Didn't See It Coming
by Akenokoru
Summary: Twins Sam and Dean Winchester begin their 6th year at Hogwarts. Dean meets Castiel - but will Cas's best friend Crowley get in the way? The story takes place during The Order of the Phoenix. Cas's characterization is heavily reliant on late season 7 'crazy Cas'. Warnings: Light Destiel. Some language. Shameless fluff with a sprinkle of angst. Extremely nerdy.
1. Chapter 1

_Didn't See It Coming_

Chapter 1

"C'mon Sammy," Dean called out. "The train's here."

Sam didn't even look up from the giant book he had his nose in as he stood up. He balanced the book in one hand as he tossed his blue scarf over his shoulder and tucked it more tightly around his neck. Dean shivered. It was a cold day for the first of September, and Dean was still wearing his muggle t-shirt and jeans.

"You are such a nerd." Dean rolled his eyes as Sammy stood beside him, eyes still scanning his copy of _Advanced Potion Making._ He'd barely put it down since Bobby took them to Diagon Alley for their school things last week.

"Yeah, okay," Sammy responded automatically. Dean watched the other students making their way over to the edge of the platform as the Hogwarts Express steamed into the station, its red side bright with rain. It stopped, and Dean hopped on, looking over his shoulder to make sure Sammy followed.

They found an empty carriage and took it over immediately, Dean throwing his backpack into an empty seat and spreading out. Much as he wanted to seek out the friends he hadn't seen all summer, he knew how much a quiet reading space mattered to Sammy. He sighed as he watched his little brother settle into his seat, shaking his long hair out of his eyes, and Dean lay back for a nap.

He was jolted from his doze by footsteps in the passageway.

"I told you, they need direct morning sunlight," a gentle voice murmured. "You should have planted them to the east of the house, or the southeast at least."

"But mother's gardens have taken over the whole estate," a boy replied crossly. "My window box was the only place I _could_ plant the ruddy things."

Dean looked up, curious, to see two boys in the passageway, one of them holding a sad and wilted specimen. Dean couldn't recognize it; Herbology was never his best subject. A soft knock came before the door to the carriage slid open.

"Do you mind if we join you?" A Hufflepuff boy, already in his school robes, asked. Behind him stood his friend, an expensive-looking sweater over his uniform. Dean blinked and shrugged. Sammy looked up, surprised.

"Excellent," the other boy announced, swiftly removing Dean's backpack from an empty seat and sitting down. Sammy looked over at the potted plant in his lap.

"What's wrong with your dittany?" Sam asked.

"Not enough sunlight, according to Mr. Herbology over here," the boy in the black sweater grunted crossly. "Do you know how to cure it?"

Sam shook his head. "I could consult my books though." The boy waved his hand.

"Don't bother," he said. "I'll get Professor Sprout to look at it."

"I'm sure we can nurse the wee thing back to health," the Hufflepuff said placidly. He was still looking at Dean, who was beginning to feel uncomfortable under the boy's blue-eyed stare.

"Dean Winchester," he said, offering his hand. The Hufflepuff shook.

"Castiel Novak," he introduced himself, "and this is my friend, Crowley MacLeod."

"Any relation to Rowena MacLeod?" Sammy asked immediately. The well-dressed boy nodded curtly.

"My mother," he said.

 _Rowena MacLeod?_ Dean mouthed to Sam. Sam nodded, and waved his _I'll explain later_ gesture. Dean was starting to hate how much his twin knew that he was completely ignorant of.

"Winchester," Crowley added. "I'm sure I've heard that name before."

Dean watched as Castiel offered Crowley much the same wave Sam had shown him, and he was grateful for it. His entire first year had been spent explaining that, yes, he and Sam were the twin sons of the famous Auror who'd given his life fighting Voldemort, and no, they were not keen on talking about it. In second year he'd found an easy way out, by reminding anyone who asked that they were also Campbells on their mother's side. After third year, he'd had to make his bragging more specific.

He remembered one episode in particular, last year, when he and Sammy were fifth years. An eager second-year Ravenclaw girl had been pestering Sam for more details about his famous father, when Dean intervened.

"You want to hear all about our family?" Dean asked. The Ravenclaw nodded. "Where to begin?" Dean exclaimed, putting himself physically between his brother and the curious second-year. "You must know our mother was murdered by Death Eaters, but do you know her entire family have been fighting Dark wizards since the Middle Ages? We can trace our origins back to Merida Campbell, who saved her Scottish village from Animagi who attacked in the form of bears…" Sam's eyes had grown wider and the listening Ravenclaw's eyes had narrowed as they listened to Dean make up total crap about the Campbell family. The girl had held out until Dean started describing his grandfather's (fictitious) unicorn conservation and relocation program before storming off in disgust.

Sam had not been exactly grateful.

"You have to stop making me look like an idiot in front of my fellow Ravenclaws," Sam had demanded.

"Well, excuse me," Dean retorted, "it didn't look like you were doing much to discourage her."

"The Campbells are an renowned family," Sam reminded Dean, "they've done plenty of great things. You shouldn't make up garbage to punish someone for being curious."

"Doesn't it bother you," Dean asked hotly, "that people are 'interested' in all the gory details of how our parents died?"

"Just because I don't want to talk about it," Sam said quietly, "doesn't mean people shouldn't ask."

"They damn well shouldn't ask," Dean countered. "At least, they shouldn't ask us." Sam shook his head, and Dean felt his ire rising. Stupid Ravenclaw Sam, with his 'pursuit of knowledge' bollocks. Acting superior to Dean, who'd been sorted into Gryffindor just like their muggle-born father and every member of the Campbell family on record. Sam just had to be different, as if the Winchesters weren't good enough for him. As if Dean wasn't good enough for him.

Crowley's voice jarred Dean from his reverie.

"Almost there," Crowley noted, looking out the window. "We ought to get back to the prefect's carriage."

"You're prefects?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow. "How come you aren't with the others?"

"We were there to meet the new prefects," Castiel explained, "but then Crowley and I wandered off." Crowley crossed his arms. "He doesn't get along with the other Slytherins."

"I don't get along with most people." Crowley smiled. "That's what makes you special, Castiel."

Dean rolled his eyes, but felt a pinch in his gut. Castiel's blazing blue glance had seemed more than just friendly, but if Crowley was talking to him like that…

" _Other_ Slytherins?" Dean repeated. He fought with his face, trying to achieve an expression of dismissive nonchalance.

"What did you think I was?" Crowley met his eyes with much more convincing contempt.

"Didn't think Mr. Herbology here would be best buds with someone from the Death Eater house." Dean retorted. Crowley scowled.

"It's _not_ a 'Death Eater' house," he replied. "But don't worry: remarks like that show everyone you're a grunting Gryffindor." He smirked. "Think you'll remember your way off the train, or shall I get one of your prefects to show you the way?"

"Besides," Castiel interrupted, his face crumpled in concern. "There aren't Death Eaters anymore."

"Sure there are," Dean shot back, wincing internally as Castiel's shoulders seemed to fold inward. "Haven't you heard? They're back. _He's_ back."

"The Ministry would like for us all not to panic," Crowley said, more than a hint of menace in his voice. "Though I'm sure you'd love nothing more than an opportunity to show off your _heroism_ …. Just like your parents." His sarcasm burned a hole in Dean's gut and painted red spots high on his cheekbones.

"Are you really going to deny what everyone knows?" Dean asked, getting angrier by the second.

"What 'everyone' knows," Crowley said, framing his words with air quotes. "Is what Potter tells them, and we all know he's not quite the 'reliable source' you Potter-worshipping Gryffindors think he is."

"We don't worship Potter," Dean spat. "But we don't wish he was dead, like you _Slytherins_."

Crowley leaned forward, another insult on his lips, but he cut himself off abruptly. Dean followed his gaze to Castiel's face, blue eyes wide. Dean noted the trembling hand on Crowley's forearm. He could barely hear it, but he watched Castiel's lips form the words _please don't._

Crowley got up.

"So nice to meet you," he said formally, nodding to Dean and Sam – who was watching open mouthed from behind his spellbook. "We must be sure to run into each other again." Putting an arm around Castiel's shoulders, he shot eye daggers at Dean, who raised his chin, accepting the challenge. Crowley and Castiel turned and left the carriage; a moment of silence descended before Sam started sputtering.

"What the _hell_ , Dean?"

"What?" Dean snapped.

"What was that even about?" Sam asked. "You were baiting some Slytherin prefect – who can take points off you, by the way –"

"Like I care about house points," Dean huffed.

"You don't even know You-Know-Who is back!" Sam yelled, letting his book fall into his lap.

"So?" Dean whined.

"So?" Sam continued, aghast. "The MacLeods are only one of the most powerful wizarding families out there."

"I don't care," Dean spat. "I'm a Winchester, and we aren't afraid of anyone!"

Sam covered his face with his hands.

"Whatever," he said. "Have it your way. Just get your robes on, will you? We're almost there."

Even after the excitement of the feast, Dean still couldn't get his encounter with Crowley and Castiel out of his head. He was trying to sort out what about their conversation bothered him, when his thoughts were interrupted.

"I _know,_ " he heard behind him, "there's no way this can be good. Take the _Daily Prophet_ ragging on Harry Potter all summer, add a Ministry official teaching classes at Hogwarts, _and_ that odiferous speech –"

"You really think there's going to be a problem, Jess?" Dean turned. There was Sam, concern on his face, trailing after an irate blonde Ravenclaw.

"Hey Sammy!" Dean called. "Good feast, huh?" They ate well at Bobby's, but Dean had pined for Hogwarts roast chicken and gravy-drowned steak all summer.

"Yeah, I guess," Sammy muttered. "What did you think of all that?" He asked, indicating the great hall with his thumb over his shoulder. Dean shrugged.

"What, the Sorting Hat's 'get along' song?" Dean asked. "Whatever. As if we should forget what house produces Dark wizards and just hold hands and sing Kumbaya."

Sam's blonde friend opened her mouth – probably to disagree – but Sam cut her off.

"I don't know, Dean," he said, shaking his head. "Didn't you hear that pink nightmare's speech?"

"Blah blah, we're not eating yet, blah blah, be good kids, blah blah," Dean summarized. Sam and his friend rolled their eyes in sync.

"There's a reason your brother's not in Ravenclaw, isn't there?" The blonde asked Sam.

"Excuse me," Dean replied in mock offense. "Someone's gotta keep the world safe for you quill-pushers."

"See you in the Common Room, Sam," the blonde said, joining the throng of students heading back to their respective dormitories.

"Your friend's got quite the attitude," Dean commented. Sam bristled.

"Jess is—" he began.

"Yeah, whatever," Dean waved his explanation away. "You know what this means, right?" Sam's eyes narrowed.

"No, Dean," he protested. "We're in sixth year now. We are too old for this."

"Never," Dean cackled. "Watch your back, Sammy. Bobby's cease-fire is only in effect under his roof. Now that we're back at Hogwarts…" he spread his arms. "Prank war is back on."

"You are hopeless," Sam sighed. He made his way towards the staircase.

"Good night, bitch!" Dean called after him. Sam disappeared into the crowd.

"Get stuffed, jerk!"


	2. Chapter 2

_Didn't See It Coming_

Chapter 2

Dean took his place at the Gryffindor breakfast table with a sigh. He heaped his plate with eggs and bacon, keeping a close but surreptitious eye on the Ravenclaw table. He smiled when he saw Sam sitting down, hand moving through his messy morning hair, and smiled wider when Sam immediately jumped up again and fumbled through his robes for his wand.

Sleeping in different towers and only sharing a handful of classes a week meant that he and Sam were closest as they engaged in the finest art of brotherhood: the illustrious prank war.

"You," Sam hissed as he made his way to Dean's seat.

"Morning, Sammy," Dean said mildly, shoving eggs into his mouth. "How'd you sleep?"

"You did this," Sam growled. Dean sniffed the air in feigned innocence.

"Did you have a burrito for a midnight snack, Sammy?" he asked, grinning. "Feeling a little gassy this morning?"

"You will take this goddam farting charm _off_ me," Sam whispered, "or else—"

"Or else what?" Dean gave Sam his most endearing smile. Dean could hear his classmates giggle as Sam filled the silence with a steady stream of adorable little _poots._ Sam's fists shook.

"You will not like what happens next," Sam warned, "and you will not see it coming."

"There's not much I don't see coming," Dean boasted. "But by all means." Sam stormed away, his _poots_ turning into a chorus of baby ducks and French horns. Dean called after him, "have some prune juice, Sammy! You'll feel loads better!"

 _Point one to me,_ Dean thought happily. _Your move, Sammy._

Sammy's revenge came later in the day, and true to his word, Dean wasn't expecting it.

He came out of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, shoving his useless textbook into his satchel, when a beam of red sparks caught him squarely in the chest. He flung out an arm to retrieve his wand and watched helplessly as his hand pointed and began to trace an arc across his body.

"This isn't funny, Sammy!" He yelled in horror, as his other hand found its place on his now thrusting hips.

Sammy only laughed harder, doubling up as Dean's feet began to trace a slick pattern around the hallway, drawing the attention of students wandering between classes. Dean's face burned as he fell to the floor, his hex-induced Worm drawing sarcastic applause. He felt himself yanked to his feet, still thrusting, spinning, and windmilling his captive arms.

Horrified, Dean caught eyes with Crowley as a tight group of Slytherins and Hufflepuffs made their way through the corridor.

"Do you always panic at the disco, Winchester?" Crowley sneered. Dean grimaced as he jumped to the left, knocking a Gryffindor to the floor. "Or are you training for the ballet?"

"Dammit, Sammy," Dean hissed through his teeth, as he saw Crowley put his arm around the shoulders of the Hufflepuff next to him. The blue-eyed Hufflepuff with the messy dark hair. Who was reaching into his robes for his wand.

" _Finite Incantatem_ ," Castiel said. Dean gasped as he felt the spell leave his body.

"Thanks," he muttered, refusing to meet Castiel's eyes.

"Of course," Castiel said. Their moment was interrupted by a slow clap from Crowley.

"Didn't know you could dance, Winchester," Crowley purred. "But what a show."

"Bite me, Crowley," Dean spat. His eyes found Sammy, lounging at the doorway to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

"Looks like I got you a fan," Sammy told him.

"You," Dean grunted. "You will pay for this." Sammy's retort was cut short when the blonde Ravenclaw from last night emerged from the crowd.

"Sam," she said urgently, "you won't believe what I've heard about the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. The Slytherins are all saying she won't even teach us defensive spells! How are we supposed to get our NEWTS—"

The Ravenclaw's diatribe was cut off by a tiny _ahem_ from the doorway, and Dean turned away. The new professor may act like a pink fluffy kitten, but Dean was not about to find out where she kept her claws. Hoping to avoid both a detention and a renewed attack from his brother, Dean made his way to the Herbology greenhouses.

Dean couldn't believe he hadn't noticed the bright-eyed Hufflepuff before.

Of course, Herbology was the only class he actually had with Hufflepuffs, and paying attention to the finer workings of magical vegetables wasn't exactly his strong point. But now that he'd met Castiel, he couldn't help but look for him, eyes scouring the crowded greenhouse.

He tuned out Professor's Sprouts explanations about the specimens in front of them when his gaze landed on Castiel.

Castiel, in contrast, looked enraptured, occasionally taking the quill he'd stuffed behind one ear to scribble a note on a piece of spare parchment. Dean watched Castiel's hands return the quill, ruffling already messy hair.

"Mr. Winchester?" Dean groaned internally. He hadn't heard Professor Sprout's question.

"Overwatering?" He offered tentatively. Professor Sprout's eyebrows rose.

"Perhaps you should take a closer look?" Sprout suggested, extending the plant. "Try again. What would cause this dittany to droop?"

Dean's memory roared to life. _Dittany._ That was the plant Crowley had with him on the train. His eyes met Castiel's. To his surprise, the blue-eyed boy was mouthing something. _What messed up Crowley's plant?_ Dean thought.

"Not enough sunlight, Professor," Dean answered, feigning confidence he did not feel. Sprout smiled.

"Quite right," she said. "Five points to Hufflepuff." Dean sputtered.

"But Professor, I'm a—"

"I know when one of my students is mouthing the answer behind my back, Mr. Winchester." She said with a smile. "Mr. Novak, what else can you tell us about the proper care of dittany?"

Dean was grateful for the excuse to stare openly at Castiel as the Hufflepuff began to catalogue the appropriate soil, temperature, moisture levels, sunlight exposure, and fertilizing methods for dittany, as well as some handy charms for keeping it protected from high winds. Not that Dean was listening; he tended to filter out any information that didn't seem immediately useful. His focus was split between wondering which plants in the greenhouse would make good ingredients for his next attack on Sammy and watching the Hufflepuff's half-smile.

 _I'm going to kiss those lips,_ Dean thought idly. _Crowley or no Crowley._

The Three Broomsticks was packed with students on their first Hogsmeade trip of the year, but Dean managed to squeeze onto a stool at the bar, scanning the crowd for Castiel. A heated conversation in one corner caught his ear, and he turned. A victorious smile spread over his lips. _Gotcha,_ he thought wickedly. He slid off the stool and elbowed his way through the crowd, moving toward the knot of students arguing in the corner. Mission: Steal Castiel from Crowley was underway.

"But _The Daily Prophet_ says—" one fifth-year was saying.

"Stuff _The Daily Prophet,_ " another bit back, "you know they only print what makes the Ministry look good."

"Hello, Dean," Castiel greeted him. _He remembers me!_ Dean thought with glee. _Good God, those eyes are blue._

"What am I missing?" Dean asked, turning on his most winning smile.

"We're discussing… current events," Castiel answered him evasively, turning his eyes to his butterbeer.

"Like how You-Know-Who is back?" Dean sipped his butterbeer casually, enjoying the shocked and incensed faces staring back at him.

"He's _not,_ " one corrected him. "He can't be."

"But Potter says—" another one interjected.

"Don't bring up _Potter,_ " the first moaned, "or we'll be hearing this Gryffindor sing his praises for hours."

"We don't _sing his praises,_ " Dean replied, nettled. "But we do trust him when he tells us he say a certain Dark wizard come back from the dead." A couple of Slytherins rolled their eyes.

"Sure," one said, "back from the dead. Because that's bloody likely."

"Likely or not, that's what happened," Dean continued. A Hufflepuff shook his head. "What do you think happened to Cedric, then?" Dean challenged.

A hush fell over the group. _This was not how I'd planned this conversation_ , Dean thought. His frustration turned to panic when Castiel stood up, fishing coins out of his pockets.

"I'll see you back at the castle," Castiel muttered to the group at large before making his way towards the door.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked, catching up to Castiel outside the pub. The Hufflepuff shrugged.

"I don't like conflict," he said. Dean just looked at him.

"You guys were already arguing before I showed up," he said defensively.

"It's not the same," Castiel demurred.

"What, having a Gryffindor at the table?" Dean challenged, eyes narrowing. Castiel's eyes flicked to Deans, and then to the ground, his tongue between his lips.

"It's more… aggressive," Castiel told him.

"Aggressive?" Dean asked, eyebrow arched. "Don't you think we need to be aggressive? After all," he continued, closing the space between them, "we've already lost someone to You-Know-Who." Castiel winced.

"It's hard to talk about it," he whispered.

"But we gotta," Dean pressed on. "We have to be ready. To fight back."

"I have to go," Castiel said suddenly, turning. Dean followed him, and Castiel quickened his pace.

"C'mon, Castiel," Dean said, "don't just walk away."

"I don't want to talk about Cedric," Castiel said flatly. Dean jogged to keep up with him.

"Why? Was he your boyfriend or something?" Dean instantly regretted his teasing tone when he saw Castiel's face.

"I didn't mean—" his apology was cut short by a swift punch to his jaw. Shaking stars out of his eyes, Dean came face to face with Crowley.

 _Where did this asshole come from?_ He thought, dazed.

"You listen to me," Crowley hissed, shoving Dean's back into the wall, "when you mess with Castiel, you mess with me." Dean felt the cold stone digging into his shoulder blades. "And I," Crowley continued, punctuating his words by tightening his grip on Dean's biceps, "am not. To be. Messed with."

"Can't Cas speak for himself?" Dean shot back, meeting Crowley's eyes. "Or does he just do whatever you tell him?"

"Crowley, don't," Castiel called softly. He hovered uncertainly behind his friend's shoulder. "He doesn't mean it."

Crowley's scowl fell as he looked over his shoulder at Castiel. He gave Dean a final shove before stepping back.

"If that's what you want," he said lightly, joining Castiel. He put an arm around the Hufflepuff's shoulders and began to saunter back to Hogwarts. Dean's heart fell through his stomach and ended up somewhere between his knees.

And then Castiel cast one long, blue-eyed glance over his shoulder, and the hurt on his face sent Dean's heart plummeting even further.

It was probably in Australia by now.

Back at Hogwarts, Dean found Sam – as usual – in the library. With that blonde Ravenclaw. _Sure spending a lot of time with that one,_ Dean thought.

"You have to tell Dumbledore." Sam announced. Dean scoffed.

"Are you serious?" he replied.

"Or at least Professor McGonagall," Sam went on. Jess nodded.

"I'm not running to a professor just because Crowley thinks he can take me." Dean protested.

"Do you even know who he is?" Sam asked. "The family he's from? If Crowley MacLeod threatened you-"

"He didn't threaten me," Dean interjected.

"If the _son of Rowena MacLeod_ threatened you, you have to take steps," Sam said.

"Why?" Dean asked. "What makes the MacLeods so fearsome?"

"You don't know?" Jess asked. Dean raised an eyebrow. "Ugh." Jess walked over to the stacks and pulled out a thick leather-bound tome. It landed on the table with a dull thud.

"Canisbay, Scotland, 1661. A monk records strange lights in the sky and a flock of dead sheep, sure they indicate—" Jess hauled out her most sarcastic air quotes— "demonic omens."

"1666," Jess went on, "a Rowena MacLeod is fined for attempting to sell her child into slavery." She looked at Dean. "The price was three pigs."

"1689," Jess turned a page in the enormous ledger, "several children go missing, and three young men confirmed dead in a bar brawl return to town, very much alive." She paused. "The three men were known associates of the MacLeod family."

"1723," Jess continued, "a tailor, Fergus MacLeod, is burned at the stake for the crime of witchcraft." She slammed the book shut. "I could go on, but I assume you need Sam's help connecting the dots, so I thought I'd give you a chance to catch up."

"Why do I care that some sheep died in nowhere, Scotland at the asscrack of time?" Dean asked, sullen.

"These are from Muggle records, Dean," Sam told him. "The MacLeod family were necromancers."

"Full on, raising people from the dead, necromancers?" Dean asked, incredulous.

"Yes," Jess rolled her eyes. "And so brazen with their power that Muggles couldn't ignore it. The wizarding community may have covered for them at the beginning, but things got so out of hand they had to let Fergus MacLeod burn." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "After that, the MacLeods were forced to leave Canisbay."

"Too bad for them," Dean said.

"That doesn't mean they stopped," Sam said. "There are records from freaking Mesopotamia about the dark magic they got into. They are bad news, Dean."

"Hold up," Dean cut in, "why should having necromancers in the family make this one guy bad news? Just because he has some powerful ancestors—"

"Well, there's his mother," Jess said. Dean shrugged.

"She's never been charged," Sam began.

"But that just means no one's ever caught her," Jess told him.

"It's just a rumour, Jess," Sam protested. "It's not a fact."

"But the rumour comes from too many sources to only be a rumour," Jess continued.

"And the rumour is?" Dean asked. _These Ravenclaws are killing me._ Jess leaned in.

"That Rowena MacLeod is every bit the necromancer her namesake and ancestors were," she whispered. "That's why she's dangerous."

"That's why her _son_ is dangerous," Sam corrected. "Steer clear of this Crowley, won't you Dean?"

Dean struggled to resist Sam's puppy-dog eyes.

"Alright," he said. "I won't go looking for him," he promised. "Happy?"

"I guess," Sam said. Dean got up. Enough library time for one day.

"See you on the flip side," he told his brother. He nodded at Jess.

 _I'm not afraid of no Crowley MacLeod,_ Dean thought defiantly as he made his way through the castle. _Necromance_ this, _bitch._


	3. Chapter 3

_Didn't See It Coming_

Chapter 3

Dean expected his next Herbology class to be tense, but he hadn't expected this.

Usually his Hufflepuff classmates had been forgiving enough. They certainly hadn't laughed as hard as his fellow Gryffindors when Dean gave a cheeky answer to a question, but they'd always been happy to restate instructions Dean had tuned out.

Now he couldn't so much as ask one to pass him a pair of shears without getting an _I'd like to stab you with these_ glare.

They still passed him the shears, though. That's Hufflepuffs for you.

Castiel wouldn't meet his eyes, and Dean cursed the fact that he only had the one class with the Hufflepuff. As opposed to Crowley, whom he had to see three times a week, in Potions, Transfiguration _and_ Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Contrary to Sam's warning, Crowley hadn't made a move against Dean, though he must know – as did all of Hufflepuff house, apparently – that Dean's conversation with Castiel in Hogsmeade hadn't gone so well. He kept his distance, but he met Dean's gaze with one of calm superiority whenever Dean looked in his direction.

Dean put his head down on his parchment, not caring if the still wet ink left marks on his face. They were copying out chapter eleven of _Defensive Magical Theory_ while their professor sat at her desk, marking essays with a tight, demonic smile and an offensively fluffy pink quill. He could feel Crowley's eyes on him. _Bugger this,_ Dean thought. Like he'd learn anything in this class anyway. What a way to reward him for getting an Outstanding last year.

Class ended, and Dean stuffed his smeared parchment into his satchel, making his way to Professor Flitwick's classroom. He took his usual seat next to Sammy, and sighed.

"Dude," Sammy whispered. "What is with you?" His brows lowered. "Are you worried about what Crowley said?"

"No!" Dean said, far too loudly. He could see Jess smirk on the other side of Sam. "I'm not worried."

"Calm down, there, Gryffinbro," Jess teased him. "No one's saying you are."

"I just—" Dean bit his lip. "I gotta talk to Castiel."

"I do wonder," Jess said, leaning across Sam's desk. "What's up with you two?" She fluttered her eyelashes at Dean.

"Nothing," he shot back. "I should ask what's going on with you two!" Sam blushed bright red, but Jess just smiled, folding back into her seat as Professor Flitwick took his podium.

Halfway through the class, Dean felt a pinch on the back of his neck. He looked up from _The Standard Book of Spells_ to find a tiny paper airplane zooming in for another strike. He snatched it out of the air just before it hit his nose. Looking around quickly to be sure no one had noticed, he opened it.

 _Talk about bees. He likes bees._

 _-J._

Dean looked over to where Jess was concentrating on her non-verbal spell casting. Sam threw a quill in the air, and Jess cast her charm, silently levitating the quill. Sam laughed and started clapping, his eyes on Jess's spellwork. Jess gave Dean a long slow wink.

Later, Dean gave his friends in the common room an excuse about his Defense Against the Dark Arts homework and snuck off to the library to read about bees.

"Thank you for passing the fertilizer, Joanna," Dean said, a little louder than necessary. "Did you know bees are responsible for fertilizing many plants, both mundane and magical?" Dean looked passed the Hufflepuff's quizzical glance to see if Castiel had heard. It didn't look like it.

"Bees are amazing creatures," Dean continued.

"Right," Joanna said. "Good to know. Thanks, Dean." She returned to her seat, and Dean pondered his next move.

Keeping a firm grasp on the Venomous Tentacula he was supposed to be repotting, he inched closer to Castiel, trying hopelessly to engage each baffled student he passed in conversation about bees.

 _This is it._ Dean gritted his teeth as yet another confused Hufflepuff scooted out of his way. _This is the day I make a complete idiot of myself._

He was almost next to Castiel.

"Haven't you ever wondered how bees fly?" Dean asked a fellow Gryffindor desperately.

"You okay, mate?" His friend asked, one eyebrow raised.

"I'm fine," he said. "But are the bees okay? Muggle use of pesticides has made the world a very unsafe place for them." He looked over his shoulder to see Castiel turning quickly away. _I have his attention!_ Dean thought joyously. _It's working!_

"Right," the Gryffindor responded. "Hey!" he yelped, jumping back. "Watch out for your tentacula!"

Dean looked just in time to see the stalks of the tentacula blindly flailing, searching for a wizard to bite. He tightened his grip, but the ignored tentacula caught him off balance, sending him crashing backwards into a sack of fertilizer – and Castiel.

"What's going on?" Professor Sprout huffed.

"It's my fault professor," Dean said weakly, aware of Castiel wriggling out from underneath him. "I lost control of my tentacula."

"Well then, Mr. Winchester," Sprout crossed her arms. "I suppose you won't mind staying after class to clear this up?" Dean shook his head.

The rest of the students filed out as Dean swept handfuls of fertilizer back into the sack, which had split when he'd landed on top of it. His face burned, but he did his best to ignore the giggles. Until—

"Use this," a soft voice said. A trowel appeared in his line of sight. "It'll go faster."

Dean looked up to see Castiel standing over him. He took the trowel.

"Thanks," he hazarded a tiny smile. The Hufflepuff's expression didn't change, but he did get down on his knees and help Dean fill the sack with a trowel of his own.

They worked in silence, resealed the bag, and Dean saw his opportunity slipping through his fingers. He caught up with Castiel just outside the greenhouse door.

"Wait!" he said. Castiel turned.

"I just wanted to say… I'm sorry," Dean blurted. "For Hogsmeade. I didn't mean to upset you, I just…" he trailed off, lamely, kicking a lump of dirt. Castiel bent down and plucked a weed from the gravel that edged the greenhouse.

"You shouldn't talk about Cedric like that," Castiel said quietly. "As if he was just anyone."

"I'm sorry," Dean said again. Castiel kept his eyes on the muddy roots in his hands.

"Cedric meant a lot to me," he said finally.

"Yeah," Dean said. "He was pretty popular, wasn't he?"

Castiel met his eyes.

"I don't mean like that," he said. "Cedric was always great to be around. He acted like he knew you and liked you, even if you'd only just met. And he… helped me out, sometimes."

Dean nodded. He'd stepped in for Sam a few times, but hadn't needed to since his little brother spent the summer after first year mastering a wide range of hexes and jinxes.

"And to think that he's… gone," Castiel's voice broke, "that he's dead, and that it wasn't an accident, it makes me—"

"Afraid?" Dean asked gently.

"No," Castiel shook his head. "It makes me angry." He looked down at his hands again. "Maybe it makes me afraid of how angry I am."

Silence fell between the two boys, and Dean fixed his eyes on the plant now crushed in Castiel's fists.

"Hogwarts is my home," Castiel continued. "To think that someone – anyone – could come here and take that away from me, from my friends…"

"It won't happen," Dean reassured him. "We're safe here."

"Cedric wasn't," Castiel said. "And what if he was just the first?"

"Then we fight," Dean said. Castiel let out a small, hollow laugh.

"That's easy for you to say," he told Dean. "You're a Gryffindor. Born to fight."

Dean sighed. "Sure," he said. "That's me. A good little soldier."

"That's not what I meant," Castiel reached out and took hold of Dean's wrist.

"We all lost people, you know," Dean told him. "When You-Know-Who was in power."

"That's the thing," Castiel admitted. "I'm muggle-born. Cedric… was the first person I lost. That way." Dean stared.

"You mean… your family is still alive?" he asked.

"I guess so," Castiel said.

"What do you mean, you guess so?" Dean asked, confused. Before he could get a straight answer, Crowley emerged from the greenhouse.

"Castiel," he asked, "is this buffoon bothering you again?" He cracked his knuckles.

"It's okay, Crowley," Castiel told him. "We're all friends now." He smiled at Dean. "Right?"

"Yeah," Dean said, ignoring the pit that had opened up in his gut. "Friends." He smiled weakly back at Castiel. "Unless you've got a problem with that?" He arched an eyebrow at Crowley, who held up his hands.

"Any friend of Castiel's is a friend of mine," the Slytherin said calmly. "We'll be late for Charms," he added to Castiel, who rose from his knees.

"Let me just get my bag," he said, disappearing into the greenhouse.

Dean and Crowley locked eyes.

"Glad we're all friends," Crowley said lightly. "But my previous warning…." His eyes flicked towards Castiel's retreating shape. "Still stands."

Dean nodded. "See you around, Crowley."


	4. Chapter 4

_Didn't See It Coming_

Chapter 4

Castiel didn't hate him, and Crowley wasn't going to rip out his throat, so why was Dean hesitating over his next move? Even Sam, spending all his time wrapped around Jess, could tell that something was wrong when Dean went weeks without launching another prank.

"Quidditch match coming up," Sam mentioned, faking nonchalance.

"Hmmrg?" Dean muttered, his mouth full of potatoes.

"Quidditch match," Jess repeated, reaching across Dean to grab a roll. "Perfect opportunity to spend some social time with that special someone." She winked at Dean. "Maybe even hold hands during the exciting parts."

Dean choked, and Sam pounded his back a little harder than necessary.

"Thanks for the tip," Dean croaked. Jess returned his glare with a beatific smile and ran her hands through Sam's hair.

"I know I'll be snuggled up to someone on the Ravenclaw stands," she said wickedly. Sam blushed. Dean hated to admit it, but his little brother's girlfriend had a point.

Next Saturday found Dean making his way to the Quidditch pitch. With a wave, he parted from a group of his fellow Gryffindors and sauntered over to the Hufflepuff stands. With a Ravenclaw vs. Slytherin match to start the season, Dean was glad he wouldn't be facing any inter-house rivalry this time. Or so he thought.

In the Hufflepuff stands, Dean gaped. Of course Houses weren't strictly segregated or anything – as Sam and Jessica's visits to the Gryffindor breakfast table proved. And the Gryffindor stands no doubt now held a handful of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. But he wasn't expecting this.

Nearly every Hufflepuff there was there with a friend – special or not. Instead of the sea of yellow he'd expected, Dean saw a kaleidoscope of yellow, green, red, and blue – ties, scarves, banners, pennants, you name it. And most discouragingly of all, he spotted Castiel – wedged next to Crowley, holding one end of a Slytherin banner.

Undaunted, Dean elbowed his way through the crowded stands.

"Hey, Castiel," Dean said. Castiel grinned at him.

"Hey, Dean!" Castiel squirmed closer to Crowley. "Take a seat."

Dean sandwiched himself between Castiel and his Hufflepuff neighbour.

"Hello, Dean," Crowley chimed in. Dean nodded curtly.

"Crowley," he said.

"Going to be a good game, I hear," Crowley said placidly.

"Go Slytherin!" Castiel yelled.

"Castiel gets a little excited about Quidditch," Crowley explained. Dean's stomach churned. This was not going to plan.

"Do you play, Castiel?" Dean asked.

"Oh, no," Castiel said. "I love being on a broomstick, but once I'm up there—" he looked over the foggy pitch and sighed. "I forget all about the rules."

"It's true," Crowley added. "His first time flying, he forgot all about Madam Hooch and just—" he whistled. "Took off."

"I followed the bees," the Castiel explained in an undertone.

Dean heard the announcer's megaphone blare to life. The match had begun.

As the players streaked across the pitch, Dean tried to follow the action, but he was far too invested in the drama unfolding beside him. Castiel was oblivious, immersed in the game, but Dean noted every movement of Crowley's - how he retrieved Castiel's scarf and tucked it into his coat when the wind whipped through the stands, how he shifted in his seat so others could pass without disturbing Castiel, and – most damnable of all, to Dean – how he laid a proprietary arm over Castiel's shoulders, making sure, the whole time, to maintain eye contact with Dean.

By the end of the match, Castiel was ecstatic, Dean was in agony, and Crowley was as smooth and composed as ever. _I have to get him away,_ Dean thought dully. He saw his chance when Crowley turned his back. He tapped Castiel's shoulder.

"Castiel," he whispered, "can I talk to you?" Castiel nodded, nonplussed. Dean took hold of his sleeve and led him out of the stands, hoping that Crowley would lose them in the swell and crush of students celebrating, commiserating, and analyzing every moment of the game. When they reached the ground, Dean led Castiel around the corner of the stands, out of the flow of traffic, and completely lost his cool.

"Are you and Crowley dating?" Dean blurted.

"What?" Dean felt his face burn as Castiel looked at him quizzically.

"Is he your boyfriend?" Dean pressed on.

"No, Dean," Castiel shook his head. "Crowley's my best friend."

"Oh." Dean looked at his feet. _I am such an asshole,_ he thought. "You probably don't even swing that way, right?" He felt the last of his hope leaking out.

"What show have you been watching?" Dean looked up, surprised. Castiel still had that puzzled look on his face – but now it was joined by something softer. _Amusement?_ Dean thought wildly. _He thinks this is funny?_

"I don't have a boyfriend, Dean," Castiel told him gently. "But that doesn't mean I don't want one." Dean just stood there, frozen, as Castiel winked at him. "Assbutt."

Dean watched Castiel walk back to the castle. Dean stood there for a long time.

The next time he saw Castiel, Dean was going to start the conversation with something else, anything else, but his curiosity overtook him as he wedged himself between two terrified first years to claim seats for himself and Castiel at the Hufflepuff table.

"How are you and Crowley even friends?" Dean asked.

"He's a good person," Castiel said.

"But he's a Slyth—" Dean began.

"Don't," Castiel warned. A handful of Hufflepuffs had already begun to glare at the presumptuous Gryffindor in their midst. "A lot of us have friends in Slytherin," he explained, "definitely not just me. And if there's one thing you can say about Hufflepuffs…"

"It's that they're loyal, yeah," Dean conceded. "Okay. But what has Crowley done for you?" Castiel's eyes lit up.

"You may not have noticed, but I'm terrible at Transfiguration," Castiel admitted. "Crowley's helped me scrape through since first year. I doubt I'd even have my OWL if it weren't for him."

"Uh huh," Dean nodded, his face full of bacon.

"Plus, not everyone in Hogwarts is… that relaxed," Castiel continued. "I ran afoul of some Ravenclaws – you know what they're like when they're angry."

Dean could imagine. He was still sore from the Punching Bag Hex Sam had cast on him in the last round of the brother's prank war. It compelled anyone who came within two feet of Dean to begin punching him mercilessly, and it had taken Dean most of the morning to find a reversal spell.

"Crowley helped me smooth the waters. He's the best kind of protector," Castiel explained, "because he helps me fix things so that everyone's still friends." Castiel picked up another slice of toast and began to spread it with peanut butter. "I don't like conflict," he added.

"Yeah, I've noticed," Dean agreed. "But it just doesn't seem like you and Crowley have much in common." Dean watched Castiel closely, as the Hufflepuff chewed on his toast and ruffled his hair nervously.

"There's more to tell," Castiel said, "but not here."

"Meet you in the greenhouses after class?" Dean suggested. Castiel smiled.

"Absolutely."

Castiel leaned against the long table at the centre of the greenhouse while Dean pulled up a stool, folding his face into his hands, elbows on the table.

"Okay," Castiel said, "I know you have a lot of questions."

"Yeah," Dean grinned. "How are you so bad at Transfiguration?" Castiel blinked and smiled.

"I don't like forcing things to change," he answered. "But that's not really what you want to know, is it?" Dean lowered his head.

"You don't have to tell me," he began. Castiel shook his head.

"No, I want you to know," he said. "And I checked with Crowley, so it's okay." Dean raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"You have to check with Crowley to see what you can say to me?"

"It's not like that," Castiel protested. "This is partly his story too."

"Okay," Dean shrugged.

"You see, Crowley and I…" Castiel laughed softly. "Well, it seems like we don't have a lot in common."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "I mean, muggle-born Hufflepuff and a MacLeod, a Slytherin from a long line of Slytherins."

"Crowley is more than a MacLeod," Castiel corrected him. "That's really what we've got in common." Dean narrowed his eyes, confused.

"You asked if my family was alive," Castiel said. Dean nodded. "I have to assume they are, but we haven't spoken in five years."

"How come?" Dean asked gently.

"They… weren't happy when I got my Hogwarts letter," Cas explained. "Professor Sprout came to explain that I was a wizard, and they didn't take the news well."

"Why the hell not?" Dean asked, incensed. "Being a wizard is awesome!"

"You may have noticed my name is a bit… unusual?" Castiel asked. Dean nodded again. "Like all my brothers and sisters, I'm named after an angel."

"Your family's… big into angels?"

"More than that," Castiel added, "they believed in them."

"Like, that they're real?"

"Yeah," Castiel said. He looked at his hands. "They believed that the apocalypse was near, that the world would end and God would take the holy to paradise."

Dean stared at Castiel.

"You come from a _cult_?" he asked, incredulous.

"Don't call them that," Castiel said.

"Sorry," Dean said. "I didn't mean—"

"I know," Castiel interrupted. "It's just… they think of magic as coming from the devil. They told Professor Sprout… that if she took me to Hogwarts, I wouldn't be welcome back."

"But didn't she explain to them?" Dean asked. "It's not like we worship Satan here or anything." He laughed. "It's not a Black Sabbath concert."

Castiel laughed weakly.

"She tried," he said. "They didn't believe her."

"So what did she do?" Dean asked. Castiel took a deep breath, bracing himself against the long table.

"She gave me a choice," he said.

They fell into silence.

"So," Dean asked, "what's this got to do with you and Crowley?"

"When I was a first year," Castiel explained, "plenty of people asked about my name. And plenty more…" He ran a hand through his messy black hair. "Well, it's unusual, and you know what happens to the nail that sticks out." Castiel sighed. "It gets hammered down."

Dean nodded. If he wasn't such a good guy, he reasoned, he could come up with plenty of jokes on Castiel's name.

"There's only so much _Asstiel_ I could take," Castiel continued. "I've been made fun of for my name before, but now I was being reminded of the brothers and sisters I left behind, of the family who wouldn't want me back." Dean put a comforting hand on Castiel's shoulder.

"Crowley found me," Castiel said, "crying in the bathroom on Hallowe'en." Dean's heart melted imagining first-year Castiel, alone and hurt. "He offered to help, and I think it surprised him that I wasn't afraid of him."

"Why would you be afraid of him?" Dean asked, puzzled.

"Plenty of kids were," Castiel said. "He'd shown up in first year and couldn't even introduce himself without Ravenclaws backing away and Slytherins asking him whether the rumours about his mother were true."

"That she's a necromancer?" Dean asked. Castiel nodded. "Well, is she?" Dean asked. Castiel rolled his eyes. "Is he?" Dean pressed on.

"Do you think he likes," Castiel went on, "being known as Rowena MacLeod's son? He wants to make a name for himself. That's why he doesn't get along with other Slytherins – they assume he's just like his mother, that he walks the party line. Crowley's…" Castiel smiled, "a bit of a rebel." Dean smiled, remembering the Howlers exploding at the Slytherin breakfast table, which began with " _FAIR-gus_ " and descended into rants he hadn't quite been able to make out.

"He'd have to be, coming from that family," Dean said.

"I'm more than the family I come from," Castiel told him, fixing Dean with a steely blue gaze. "I'm more than my name. And so is Crowley." Dean nodded.

"I can understand that," he said. Castiel smiled.

"I'm glad," he said. The bell rang, and Dean's mind immediately snapped to the Yorkshire pudding and roast beef waiting for them in the Great Hall.

"C'mon, let's get some dinner," he said, taking Castiel's hand.

The two boys strolled out of the greenhouse and towards the castle.


	5. Chapter 5

_Didn't See It Coming_

Chapter 5

Dean had been spending plenty of time with Castiel, but it didn't feel like nearly enough. So when Castiel asked for his help decorating the corridors for Christmas, Dean jumped at the chance.

They filled the halls with boughs and holly. Dean was glad of the chance to practice non-verbal spell casting—though he'd die before admitting that to Sam. They fell into an easy rhythm, enchanting the hallway while trading stories about their families.

"I never fit in, not really," Castiel explained. "Even before I got my Hogwarts letter, they knew I was different." Dean saw the bright red baubles Castiel was levitating falter for a moment.

"You're awesome," Dean told him.

"Awesome, but different," Castiel smiled. "I know my brothers and sisters loved me, but they couldn't help but wish I was more like them."

"I guess Sam's the same way," Dean admitted. "We've all been Gryffindors—all the Campbells, as far back as we can count. My dad was muggle-born, but he was a Gryffindor too. And then Sam—" Dean laughed. "Sammy goes and gets sorted into Ravenclaw, and he _loves_ it." Castiel placed a hand over Dean's. "He was a nerd before, but here he really got into it—'Dean, did you know' and 'guess what, Dean,' and 'so get this'…" Dean trailed off. "We're twins. It's always been me and him, since mom and dad died. We were always _us._ And then we got here and there wasn't an _us_ anymore, and he was _happy_ about it."

"It hurts when people want to be different from you," Castiel said, "but they have to be who they are." He held Dean's gaze, ocean blue staring into forest green. "We all do."

"You got me there, Cas," Dean said.

"Cas," Castiel repeated. "I like that." Dean smiled sheepishly.

"That's the great thing about Hogwarts," Castiel continued. "We can be who we are." He fell silent, his eyes dropping to his lap. "Do you think my family would have let me turn out—this way?" He asked softly.

"What way?" Dean asked. "Awesome?" Castiel chuckled.

"No," Castiel told him. " _This_ way." He met Dean's eyes, and Dean swallowed hard. "They always said there was something… wrong, with me. That I came off the line—" his voice broke –"with a crack in my chassis. Because I never did what I was told. Not completely." Silence fell between them.

"Do you mean the way where," Dean began, "I want to kiss you?"

"No," Castiel corrected him. "The way where I want to kiss you back."

Dean held his breath. Castiel turned away from him, but before Dean could panic, Castiel faced him, his wand out. Dean watched as Castiel silently levitated a bunch of leaves and berries onto the beam over their heads.

"Mistletoe," Dean breathed. Castiel pocketed his wand.

"It's a good place for it, don't you think?" Castiel asked, tilting his head.

"Well, yeah," Dean cleared his throat. "People are for sure gonna be, y'know, under here, and stuff."

"That's not what I meant, Dean." Castiel closed the gap between them with a soft step. "I was thinking," he continued. Dean stared into Castiel's eyes. "That this is the perfect place… because we're standing right under it."

Dean held Castiel's face between his palms, heart pounding in his chest as Castiel closed his eyes and lifted his chin.

And then they were kissing.

Castiel's mouth moved under Dean's, and Dean carded his hands through Castiel's hair, shutting his eyes tight. Castiel laid his hands gently on Dean's hips as Dean deepened the kiss.

Breathless, Dean pulled back, and Castiel smiled.

"I'm glad," Castiel said. Dean sighed.

"Me too," he said. They stood there, just studying each other's faces.

"I'm glad you don't mind," Castiel said lightly. Dean frowned.

"Don't mind what?" He asked, alarmed.

"That I'm…" Castiel's voice faded. "Odd? From a cult? Best friends with a Slytherin?" Dean gaped at Castiel, who laid his head on Dean's chest. "I'm glad we can be together despite all that."

"What do you mean, _despite_ all that?" Dean wrapped his arms tightly around Cas, holding him to his chest. "I love you for _exactly_ who you are."

The brothers walked into the train station, holding hands. But not with each other.

Jess laughed as Sam pulled her into a goodbye kiss and hid his blushing face in her neck.

Dean and Castiel watched them.

"It's weird," Dean said, scuffing the toe of his shoe. "It's weird as hell."

"But good." Castiel added. Dean smiled.

"Yeah," he said. "It's good." He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Castiel's lips.

The thundering train announced its arrival at the station, and all over the platform Hogwarts students raced to grab their things and shout final goodbyes before going home for the Christmas holidays.

"Write me?" Dean asked. He tried to keep a note of pleading out of his voice. Castiel squeezed his hand.

"Of course." He closed the space between them with another kiss. "It's only two weeks, Dean." Dean had never felt less excited to be with Bobby and Sam for the holidays. "We'll be back soon."

"C'mon, Dean!" Sam shouted, one foot already on the steps to the train. "Say good bye to your boyfriend and get over here!"

Castiel laughed. With a quick final kiss, he melted into the crowd. Dean shouldered his satchel and took a step towards the train when he heard a cough behind him.

"Hello, Dean," Crowley said.

"Hiya, Crowley," Dean replied.

"So you and Castiel are…" Crowley trailed off suggestively. Dean blushed.

"Yeah," he said proudly. "Is that a problem?"

"Not at all," Crowley said. "As long as Castiel's happy, I'm happy."

"Good to hear," Dean said, trying to hide his relief.

"But Dean," Crowley called. Dean turned. "My previous warning?" Crowley held Dean's gaze with subtle menace. "Goes double now."

Dean grinned. "I'd expect nothing less."

"Hurt him, and I'll hex you."

Dean laughed. "I'd hex myself first."

"Good," Crowley said. "Then you'd be vulnerable to my attack. And," he continued, "you wouldn't. See it. Coming."

Dean nodded. The train whistled its impending departure. "Apparently," he told Crowley, climbing on board the train, "I never do."


End file.
